Bittersweet Lullaby
by Danyu
Summary: [oneshot] And Yusuke Urameshi, one of the ruling youkai of Makai, would sweep away as silently as he had come, leaving behind love and warmth, listening to the bittersweet echoes of her lullaby.


**Bittersweet Lullaby**

By Dan'yu

The night was cold, wrapping around him with icy fingers so similar to the chilling grip of Death he has experienced before. But he not afraid, for he is a stranger now to the vague entity called Fear. He has lived through too much, seen too much to remember Fear. He was numb, frozen inside, and Death was a constant companion, walking behind him in his wake, ever shadowing him. He has faced it countless times, and he is never afraid.

The darkness that descended over the sleepy neighborhoods hours before was a velvet black enveloping the night so thickly its presence was almost tangible, almost smothering. But there was no weakness left inside him, little touch of the humanity that would make him susceptible to this darkness. He was youkai through and through, and his eyes shone through the black night, seeing only what creatures far gone from human awareness were capable of seeing.

He had walked these streets before, many years ago. It would not be very many, he supposed, even in the human's perception of time, but so much had changed inside him that the time seemed almost infinite. A malicious wind swept down the empty boulevard, bending even the mightiest of the trees to its will, scattering fallen leaves and discarded litter is a flurry of movement around his feet, fluttering the edges of the long coat he pulled tighter around him against the freezing chill.

He passed by familiar homes, unable to resist the strange longing that welled up inside as he stretched out his mind to sense familiar presences, finding reassurance in knowing they were safe and well. Those that had once been his comrades, his friends, those that still caused feeling inside him, wistfulness for the days of old, when they offered him the type of companionship he had long since left behind.

A flicker of recognition in an old friend's familiar ki, and he continued on his journey, melting away into the shadows until they became part of who he was, so deeply entrenched in the darkness it was impossible to tell shadow from man.

He knew he could not let them sense them. They must not know how he walked these streets time and time again, longing hopelessly for things beyond his reach.

And so he walked on, drawn almost against his will to a familiar vantage point that had become his haunting, staring into the lit windows of a house he knew he should have avoided for rational reasons. But his heart spoke, drawing him closer, and no amount of logic could stop him.

He stared through these windows, a stranger on the outside, and it was the girls he saw first. Nearly twins if not for the fact they were a year apart, they were mirror images of their mother, beautiful, young, and endearingly innocent in her likeness. Hair in the richest of browns, teasing, light smiles, soft, warm hazel eyes. They sat playing peacefully on the cream colored carpets of the living room, far too occupied with vibrantly colored toys and miniature dolls to notice anything more.

Sachiko. Minoru. He knew the names given to them at birth, he knew their ages, the day they celebrated each year as they turned another year older. He knew, but it was not his right to know.

_She _stepped suddenly into the room, and his awareness of anything more in the world disappeared just as abruptly. All things tangible or intangible, fantasy or reality, right or wrong, good or evil, all of it vanished completely in the wake of her presence.

She was like an angel fallen from heaven, even more beautiful with age in a way that took his breath away. Chestnut hair fell in silky waves down her shoulders, hazel brown eyes sparkling with life and vibrancy, her body lithe and perfect despite three children. He felt the familiar heartache, the pain of longing that overtook him the very instant she made herself known to him. Resting in her arms was an infant, a young boy-child nestled against her bodice in the peaceful sleep of the well-fed and content. His coloring was his father's, but he was his mother's son, delicate features and downy hair seeming almost too fragile for a man-child.

For a single instant, he allowed himself the slightest surrender, allowed himself to imagine himself in this place. This is where he would be now, if only he had accepted the place in life she had offered him, accepted that sacred place at her side she held vacant for so many years, waiting in vain for him.

He could imagine that these children had come from him, to hear the calls of "Daddy", and know they belonged to him. He could imagine the right to sleep beside her, hold her in his arms, was his own. He could imagine that this warm home would be there to greet him at the end of each long day, banishing the cold and loneliness of the outside world. He could imagine, but he could not make that a reality.

Another man had sired these girls, earned the right to be called their father. Another man called this boy his son, would teach him the ways of the world and life. Another man shared her bed, held her in his arms. Another man would come through the doorway at any moment, be welcomed by this home's warmth; to toss aside his suitcase, loosen his tie, and hold out his arms for hugs that would be gladly given. Another man she called her husband.

He could deny it all he wished, keep up the mantra of defiance he struggled to ingrain into his mind over the years. But there was no point in the end, to deny a truth that was so concrete. He loved her still. He did not want to love her, shouldn't love her. But he did.

The feelings that once seemed so strange and new and glorious to the fourteen-year-old boy now plaqued the soul of the man, festering and twisting inside his heart until it became just another scar. A wound deep inside of him that refused to heal, only growing deeper as time passed him by. He would live century after century alone, for he was denied her presence at his side.

The baby, Kai, shifted and fussed in her arms. Stroking the crown of feather-soft hair, murmuring in low, soft tones, she began to sing a familiar song to soothe her infant son.

And Yusuke Urameshi, the descendent of Raizen, one of the ruling youkai of Makai, would sweep away as silently as he had come, leaving behind love and warmth, listening to the bittersweet echoes of her lullaby.

_owari_


End file.
